Heroes of Ulster: Holidays
by Dr. Algae
Summary: While Rory quests alongside Arthur and Griff for the Holy Grail, Molly and Mr. Dugan settle in for a quiet (if socially awkward) Christmas at the London Clan's estate in Knight's Spur. That is, until their holidays are shattered by a lust-maddened Sídhe seeking the reincarnation of his lost love.
1. Midir

_Gargoyles_, co-created by Greg Weisman, is the property of the Walt Disney Company. Please don't sue me, Mousey Overlords. :(

* * *

_The story is told, though who can say if it be true…_

_Of an isle where time stands still and summer never ends, where the gods themselves revel amid unchanging majesty and splendour._

_The Britons knew it as Avalon, the Welsh called it Ynys Afallach, but the Gaels of ancient Éire named it the land of the ever young._

_They named it…_

**Tír na nÓg**

Somewhere, deep in the somber forest that covered much of the island, lay a sacred oak grove that was old before the ocean drank Atlantis. It was here that the Dagda, High King of the Sídhe, held court.

If by 'held court', one meant 'threw a great big honkin' party'.

At the center of the clearing stood an enormous bronze cauldron bubbling over with warm honey-scented mead. Hardly a moment passed when less than a dozen tankards, goblets, and drinking horns weren't greedily dipping into it. Yet, the level of the sweet golden froth never once dipped below the cauldron's lip.

Virtually all the surviving gods and fae of ancient Éire were in attendance. A goblin plucked merrily upon a golden harp as he sang, the sonorous beauty of his voice contrasting sharply with his grotesque outer form. Elsewhere, a woman with blood-crimson hair and finely scaled serpentine skin brooded silently over her chalice, a red ring-like scar about the third finger of her left hand.

There were also exalted guests from among the Sídhe's sister pantheons. The corpulent spider-god Anansi refused to be drawn from the endlessly replenishing buffet table. Coyote of the Kachinas was chatting up a lady in black, who held her own disembodied head in the crook of her arm.

Meanwhile, the cow-goddess Hathor lapped lazily from a golden dish filled with a dark-red liquid most onlookers assumed (or hoped) was wine. Elsewhere, a woman clad in the robes of a Mayan noble refilled her goblet from the great cauldron, chanting softly as the golden liquid turned a creamy cocoa brown. Of all the tribes of the Third Race, only the Aesir were conspicuous by the absence of a representative.

Above all, upon a rough-hewed stone throne bestrewn with animal furs, presided the Dagda himself. His rotund, red-gold maned form was clad in an anachronistic mishmash of biking leather, fur and bronze armor that made him look like something betwixt an ancient Celtic chieftain and a Hell's Angel.

"Drink up, ye lads and lassies! Drink up, ye who are both and neither!" bellowed the Dagda, brandishing twin barrel-like tankards. "For we've still got a millennium of merriment to be catching up on!"

All in attendance cheered in response as the Dagda leaped from his throne with a grace that belied his voluminous bulk. He dunked the twin tankards deep within the golden abundance of his magic cauldron.

He withdrew the frothy tankards, before turning to a throne of yew that stood alone and apart; carved with the symbol of a shining spear.

"Here's one fer you, lad," the Dagda sighed sadly, placing a tankard upon the throne's armrest. "Wherever or _whoever_ ye might be."

"Assuming you don't drink it yerself?" a soft ethereal voice chided lightly.

The Dagda spun nimbly on his heels to be greeted by a man and woman locked arm in arm. They were clad in elegant black funeral wear trimmed with purple and white, with matching black top hats and dark-tinted glasses.

The man was tall, slender and dark-skinned save for the bone-white skull painted upon his face. His dark-tinted glasses were missing a single lens. His lips curled in a rakish grin as he chomped down on a cigar.

The woman was fair, with shimmering red-gold hair not unlike the Dagda's own. Upon her lapel was pinned a small reed-woven cross. A black rooster feather was tucked into the band of her top hat. Behind dark-tinted glasses, eyes of green flame crackled warmly like hearth-fires after a long cold journey.

"Brigid?" the Dagda whispered softly.

She smiled. "Hello, father."

"BRIGID!?" the Dagda roared with unconstrained joy, sweeping up his daughter in a spinning bear-hug before finally turning to her companion. "And ye must be the new hubby, eh? Well, lad, ye can only be an improvement over the last one!"

"_Enchanté_, my good Dagda. It's easy to see where my Brigitte gets her grace and charm," Brigid's husband spoke, tipping his top hat before his lips curled up in a smirk. "Bondye knows where she found her looks."

The Dagda threw back his head in a howl of laughter. "Oh, I _like_ you!"

"Oh, course you do. He reminds you too much of yourself," Brigid teased, glancing about the assembly. "Cú Roí not here?"

The Dagda shook his wild red-gold mane. "Had to duck out, business at the Big House."

"Ahem," a voice coughed wetly.

The Dagda peered over his shoulder at a figure standing in the shadow of an ancient oak. "Ah, lad! Come say hello to yer sister and her new beau!"

The figure who stepped forth was as unlike his sister as water was unlike fire. Where she radiated warmth, he brought a clammy chill with every step. Where her eyes were bright hearth-fires, his were dark brackish pools.

Like his father, he was clad mostly in biking leather, a long dark coat draped about him. His skin was pale and sallow, with blue-tinted lips like a drowned corpse. His long green-black hair clung wetly to his shoulders like algae on a river stone.

"Brigid," he spoke with as much warmth as he could muster.

"Midir," she answered in kind.

"Ample Father, might I request an audience," Midir spoke. "In private?"

"Come, Sam. Let's mingle," spoke Brigid, leading her husband away.

"Now, lad, what's so important that it requires dragging me away from me favorite daughter?" asked the Dagda.

"Ample Father," Midir answered. "I humbly request your permission to take leave of Tír na nÓg?"

"Now you know the rules, lad," the Dagda answered. "We all stay put 'til the Big Man gives the all clear."

"A _temporary_ leave," Midir pleaded. "Just enough time to retrieve… something precious I was forced to abandon in the mortal world. Surely so small a favour is as nothing to your boundless generosity?"

The Dagda stroked his vast red-gold beard, absently picking out a half-chewed chicken bone before tossing it in his wide mouth and munching thoughtfully.

"Tell ya what, lad," he spoke finally, summoning an oak-framed hourglass filled with slowly trickling gold dust. "I'll give ye two hours, two days by mortal reckoning, and not one second more."

"Thank you, Ample Father, you wo-" Midir began to enthuse before the Dagda's broad hand landed heavily upon his shoulder.

"I mean it, boy," the Dagda whispered low, his eyes hardening. "Not one second more."

"Of… of course, father," Midir stammered before turning to leave.

"And one more thing, lad?"

"Yes, father?"

"Pick me up a bottle of Dalriada Each-Whiskey on yer way back," the Dagda beamed. "The conjured stuff just ain't the same."

[-]

**Knight's Spur, London**

**December 26****th****, 2000 A.D.**

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-"

_Flick_

"Champs Elisa, as the French say."

_Flick_

"You are the weakest link, goodbye."

_Flick_

Molly lay upon a battered sofa in the common room, absently flipping through channels. Just beyond the window, the last embers of sunset were sinking behind the forest, quickly followed by the distant rumble of over two hundred gargoyles awakening from stone sleep.

Not that Molly really noticed. Her mind had been in a funk ever since Rory had decided to join King Arthur and his First Knight on their quest for the Holy Grail, leaving her alone with the local gargoyle clan.

"Making the most of the holidays, I see?" drawled Sean Dugan as he entered.

Well, almost alone.

Rory's father had already zipped up his winter coat and was now winding a thick woolly scarf about his neck.

_Where are you going?_ Molly signed in Irish Sign Language.

"Leo recommended a good night-time walking tour along the Thames. Cab's already on the way," said Sean, checking he had his wallet. "You're welcome to come if the excitement here getting too much for you?"

_Pass_

"Suit yourself," grunted Sean. Taking his leave. He'd been gone almost a whole minute before Rory's last words to Molly came bubbling up to the surface of her consciousness.

_Take care of my da for me, please._

Molly wished she could groan in frustration as she tore herself from the couch, chasing after Sean.

She caught up with him in the manor's foyer speaking with Una, the London Clan's angel-winged unicorn-like Leader. By her side stood Constance, her porcine featured second in command.

"I'd feel more comfortable if one of us kept on eye on you," spoke Una.

"Sure I don't see what trouble I could get into on a tour group?" Sean replied, before spotting Molly. "Changed your mind, I see?"

Molly kept her hands firmly in her pockets.

"Nonetheless, Sir Dugan entrusted us with your safety," spoke Una. "And we take such responsibilities _very_ seriously."

Molly bristled slightly at hearing Rory referred to as '_Sir_ Dugan',

"Perhaps young Tyger?" Una said thoughtfully. "He's always eager to chip in."

"He should take Kelps too," Constance added. "Griff, Arthur, and Rory aren't due to leave Avalon for another night. She's just twiddling her talons 'til then."

"I don't think I've met 'young Tyger' yet," mused Sean. "What's he like?"

Una pursed her lips for a moment.

"Tyger is very... dedicated."

[-]

**Tower Bridge, the Thames**

"Construction of the Tower Bridge began in eighteen eighty-six and took eight years, five major contractors and over four hundred workers to complete," the tour guide droned monotonously as she led Molly, Sean and a handful of other tourists across the snow-dusted walkway that hung over forty meters above the ice-crusted waters of the Thames.

She was somewhere in her mid-twenties, not much older than Molly (well not much older than how Molly _appeared_), with an olive-complexion and powder-blue suit. Her eyes were haggard and bloodshot, like some who'd had far too much caffeine and not nearly enough sleep.

"The bridge's color scheme dates from eighteen seventy-seven," the guide continued. "When it was painted red, white and blue for Queen Elizabeth's Silver Jubilee."

"You mean _nineteen_ seventy-seven?" asked a French-accented teenager.

The guide blinked blearily. "Wot?"

"You said the bridge didn't start construction until _eighteen_ eighty-six, so how could it have been painted in eighteen seventy-seven?" asked the French teen.

"Right… yeah? That was a test to make sure you all were paying attention. Top marks you!" the guide spoke through a forced grin, before gesturing to the panorama of the dark river winding its way through the glimmering city. "Bril view, innit?"

Molly clenched her teeth. She'd only come to keep Sean safe, but right now the only seeming danger was that he might fling himself off the bridge out of sheer boredom.

[-]

**Kelpie:** Bored now! :(

**Liam:** Wrking on crab mac n cheese.

**Kelpie:** Thnx, now bored n hungry.

**Liam:** N banana parfait for dessert. :P

**Kelpie:** Sadist.

_Liam is typing…_

"Oi!?" an equine-featured gargoyle with deep-blue manta-wings protested as the LexPhone was unceremoniously plucked from her webbed talons.

"I'm sorry," replied her comrade, a red-brown furred gargoyle. "I do hope your vital conversation with Liam isn't being unduly impinged upon by all this silly _safeguarding the family of one of King Arthur's Knights?_"

"They're on a walking tour, Ty, not storming the beaches of Normandy," drawled Kelpie in a thick Scottish brogue. "Yuir acting like the entire Luftwaffe is aboot to come swooping out of the sky."

"That's no excuse for doing a half-arsed job," protested Tyger, peering out from his and Kelpie's hiding place in the upper reaches of the Tower Bridge.

Despite his name, Tyger bore little resemblance to an actual tiger. His lean red-brown furred body was more lupine than feline, save for a leonine tail and beak-like snout. Raptor-like feathered wings, typical of his clan, rose from slightly hunched shoulders. He was clad minimally in blue-black leather leggings and a bronze chest-plate that covered most of his upper torso.

"What if they get mugged, or hit by a drunk driver, or slip on an icy patch and cracked their skulls?" Tyger fretted. "What would Griff think?"

"I'm sure he winnea blame you personally," Kelpie reassured, retrieving her LexPhone.

"I would," answered Tyger flatly.

"Ty, ya need to relax," said Kelpie. "This an easy escort mission, fella! A piece of-"

Kelpie's voice was abruptly drowned out by a sound like a shooting geyser, as a living column of river water snaked its way up the bridge's pylon like some titanic anaconda.

"Alright," sighed Kelpie. "That one's on me."

[-]

Molly pushed Sean aside as a wave of oily water came crashing over the railing. The polluted liquid flowed upward, coalescing into the form of a pale elven-featured man wielding a five-pointed spear and riding astride a green-black emaciated steed.

Molly's eyes went wide. _Midir?_

The river god ignored her, Sean, and the already fleeing tourists; turning his full attention upon the tour guide.

She stared at him like he'd walked straight out of a nightmare.

"No," she whispered breathlessly. "You can't be real."

"Etain, my love," spoke Midir, his skeletal steed pawing the oily puddles that formed about its hooves as chill mist rose from its nostrils. "I have crossed oceans of time to find you."

"NO! STAY BACK!" screamed the guide, slipping on an icy patch and scrabbling backward on all fours.

"No matter," he hissed, reaching out. "You will understand once we return to Tír na nÓg."

"Oi, lavvy heid!" a Scot's voice cried out harshly. "No means no!"

Midir turned just as Tyger and Kelpie swooped down upon him, eyes blazing crimson. They tackled him from his steed, pinning him to the walkway.

The gargoyles attempted to restrain their captive only for him to dissolve into a slick flowing puddle that swiftly reformed atop his steed.

"I feel vaguely offended," said Kelpie, eyeing the demonic water-horse.

"Step aside, Fir Bolg," spoke Midir coldly. "I have no quarrel with your kind."

"You have a quarrel with anyone in this city, then you have a quarrel with us, mate," said Tyger. "Besides don't you lot have rules against mucking about in mortal affairs?"

"You are the ones who interfere. I only reclaim that which was promised to me millennia ago," snarled Midir. "Now, once more... stand aside."

Ty flared his wings. "No."

"THEN BE FORCED ASIDE!" Midir shrieked, his arms morphing into watery tendrils that lashed out at the gargoyles like hungry serpents.

Sean took advantage of the distraction to race to the fallen guide's side, over Molly's silent protests. "You alright, luv?"

"I... I think I twisted my ankle," she replied.

"Come on," said Sean, helping her upright. "Lean on me."

Midir's watery tendrils slammed the gargoyles down hard against the walkway, momentarily stunning them before turning back to his original quarry. "Give me the girl, old fool."

"In a pig's eye!" snapped Sean.

"On your own head by it," spoke Midir coldly, raising his five-pointed spear, clutched in a liquid fist.

Which was the exact moment Molly chose to leap between Midir and his target. A flash of blue faery light and in her place floated a phantasmal queen-like figure with long-flowing hair, clad in shimmering emerald gossamer.

"Morrigan?" Midir whispered fearfully, allowing his five-pointed spear to clatter harmlessly to the ground.

The Phantom Queen's eyes shone with eldritch radiance as they bored balefully into the river god's own.

That was about all Midir could take. His demon steed reeled back in terror as it leaped back over the railing, taking him with it. Rider and mount both dissolved into silty water as they hit the river's surface.

No sooner had they departed than Molly had reverted to human form. Sean and the guide stared blankly at her.

"Uuugh," groaned Kelpie as Tyger helped her to her feet. "My head hannae hurt this bad since that time I swam too close to Nessie and got a flipper to the face."

"I... I can't believe it," the guide panted. "You're the Soho Griffins!? You saved my life!"

Molly shot her a stink eye.

"Tried to anyway, but you're welcome," grumbled Tyger, nursing his head. "Not to be rude, Ms. but... Who are _you?_"

[-]

**Into the Mystic, Soho**

"My name is Vanessa Clarke, and I guess it all started around the twenty-sixth of January back in ninety-six," she spoke, nursing a cup of hot tea as Kelpie bound her ankle. Around her stood or sat Una, Constance, Tyger, Molly, and Sean, listening attentively.

"There was... an accident. All the docs said I shoulda died then and there. Mum said it was a miracle," Vanessa continued. "That's when the dreams started."

Una tilted her head. "Dreams?"

"They're like... I'm not me. I'm in a forest, or by a river, places I've never been or seen. But no matter where I am or where I go... _he's_ there too. He wants me to go with him... somewhere," spoke Vanessa, voice cracking. "Somewhere people don't come back from."

"He called you something on the Bridge... 'Etain'?" said Kelpie, looking up. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Vanessa shook her head.

"My God," Sean swore quietly. "Midir and Etain."

"What?" asked Constance.

"It's an old Irish tale," spoke Sean somberly. "Midir was a prince of the Sídhe, a race of demigods that once ruled Ireland, who fell madly in love with a mortal woman named Etain. There was just one problem; Midir was already married."

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Bloody typical."

"In a jealous fury, Midir's wife called upon her magics to transform Etain into a butterfly then summoned a wind that blew the poor creature back and forth across the island for over fourteen years.

"Eventually the butterfly landed in the goblet of a noblewoman, who swallowed the insect as she drank. Nine months later, Etain was reborn as the noblewoman's daughter.

"When she came of age, the reborn Etain was married to the High King. One day, a stranger came to Tara, challenging the High King to three games of Fidchell."

"Fidwhat?" asked Kelpie.

"It's sorta like chess," answered Sean. "Anyhow, the stranger and the High King wagered that for each game, the loser would grant the winner's request. Twice the High King won. Twice the stranger granted his wish; fifty chestnut brown horses, and to build a causeway over a deep bog.

"But at the third game, the stranger won. His only request; to wrap his arms about the High King's wife and place a single kiss upon her lips. A month passed before the High King finally assented and the stranger was brought before the Queen, in full view of all the High King's warriors

"The moment their lips touched, the two were swept up in a pillar of wind and that was the last mortal eyes ever beheld of Midir and Etain."

Everyone went silent for a few minutes once Sean finished his tale.

"No," said Vanessa finally. "NO! I am _not_ some reincarnated Irish princess! I've never even been to Ireland! My mum's from the West Indies for God's sake! I'm not Etain!"

"Vanessa," Tyger spoke softly, kneeling down to meet her eyes. "You are whoever _you_ say you are!"

"Well whoever she is, we can't risk bringing her back to our roost," said Constance."

Una nodded. "Agreed."

"We can't send her home," protested Tyger. "If Midir knows where she works then he probably knows where she lives."

"Tyger, there's a difference between protecting the people of this city and offering them free room and board," sighed Una, pinching what would have been the bridge of her nose had she been human. "She can kip down in the shop 'til the end of the holidays, or until she makes alternate arrangements; whichever comes first."

"Molly and I will stay to keep her company," offered Sean. "Right, lass?"

Molly simply glared in response.

"Very well," spoke Una. "Tyger and Kelpie can stand watch over you for tonight. We'll send someone to relieve them tomorrow evening. In the meantime, Constance and I will return home and see if we can find anything on this 'Midir' in the clan library."

Una stepped out onto the upper balcony, followed by Constance.

"Be careful, all of you," the Clan Leader spoke, unfurling her wings. "The shop is mystically warded against uninvited incursions by the Third Race, but there's no ward a devious or desperate enough mind can't think their way around."

[-]

**Battle of Britain War Memorial, the Thames**

Everyone called him 'Frank the Cabbie', even other cab drivers. His job had formed such an integral part of his identity that he'd already deferred retirement twice.

But for now, Frank was content to sit down with a ploughman's sandwich and a Nightstone coffee after ferrying a couple of Irish tourists back and forth across the city.

"Evenin', gents," he spoke, doffing his cap to the sculpted winged figures that stood silent sentinel over the memorial. He'd just been about to take his first bite when a shadow fell over him.

He looked up into the pallid face of a long-haired youth clad in biker leather. The youth's dark eyes were fixed upon the memorial.

"Everything alright, lad?" Frank asked.

"What do you know of these creatures?" asked the youth in an Irish brogue, eyes never leaving the memorial.

Now, this was the part where Frank would usually spin a yarn 'bout gremlins, followed by a trip to a certain shop in Soho. It usually gave the tourists a kick. Yet something in the youth's eyes gave him pause.

"Sorry, lad," said Frank with a shrug. "Never seen this thing before in my life."

"Do not take me for a fool!" The youth grabbed Frank by the collar, yanking him to his feet. "A Fir Bolg clan could not hide in a city of this size without leaving some trace! You must know _something!?_"

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," gasped Frank. "I swear."

"There was a time I would be well within my rights to kill you where you stood," the youth hissed before dropping Frank. "Fortunately for you, the current regime frowns on such things."

The youth turned towards the river, letting loose a high-pitch whistle. It was followed by a splash and revving motor as something tore its way up the embankment.

A vicious looking motorcycle, spotted with rust and mounted with a horse's skull upon the handlebars, came roaring over the embankment. It skidded to a stop before the youth it had a mind of its own.

The youth fixed the memorial with one last hateful glare as he mounted his steed, before screeching off into the night.

_**To Be Concluded...**_


	2. Etain

**Into the Mystic, Soho, London**

**December 27****th****, 2000 A.D.**

A cold sun shone down on the city, turning the snow banks a brilliant shimmering white. Upon the shop's Upper balcony stood the stone forms of Tyger and Kelpie, their wings flared in a defensive stance. Tyger had swapped his customary tightly bound chest-plate for a loose flowing poncho-like affair.

Vanessa also stood upon the balcony, admiring the gargoyles' still stone forms while Molly hunched over her LexPhone in a corner.

"Quite a sight, aren't they?" Sean stepped onto the balcony, carrying two Nightstone coffees and a tray of biscuits.

"I still can't believe they're real. I always figured the Tourist Board made them up. You know, like Nessie?" said Vanessa, taking a cup. "Doesn't Molly want one?"

"Molly doesn't drink," said Sean.

"It's just coffee?"

"No, I mean Molly doesn't _drink_."

Vanessa nodded uncertainly. "Okaaay."

"Anyhow, I know how you feel," said Sean. "I was as skeptical as the next man when Rory told me he was the reincarnation of Cú Chulainn."

"Cú Chulainn? Isn't he like Irish Superman or something?"

"Something like that."

"And he's your son?"

"Well, yes and no," Sean began. "Rory's not really much like the Cú Chulainn I grew up hearing stories about. That Cú Chulainn was a philandering vainglorious braggart with a homicidal temper."

"And Rory?"

"Ack, Rory's one of the most unassuming and laid-back lads you could ever meet," Sean chuckled. "Sometimes I think he's a bit _too_ laid-back."

Vanessa gave a snort of laughter. "Now you sound like my mum."

"I'll take that as a compliment," said Sean, sipping his coffee. "Rory tried explaining it to me once. He said it's like boiling off seawater 'til all you have left is salt. You take that salt, add it to a different liquid and suddenly you have something completely new."

Vanessa shook her head. "I don't get it."

"Don't look at me, I'm Presbyterian," shrugged Sean. "My point is being Etain's reincarnation isn't the same thing as _being_ Etain. Maybe she loved Midir but that doesn't mean _you_ owe the gombeen a thing."

Molly abruptly stood up, making for the window-door that led to the shop's interior.

"Where are you off to?" Sean asked.

_Out._ Molly signed.

"Well, dress warm at least."

[-]

**Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain, Piccadilly Circus**

Stupid Rory. This was all his fault.

Molly fumed, stomping past the fountain topped by a butterfly-winged statue of Anteros; Olympian god of requited love. Though honestly, she couldn't see the resemblance.

The plan had been simple. Get off Tír na nÓg, help Rory perform enough good deeds to get this ridiculous gag off her face and then freedom. In the three years since she'd been nearly beheaded, mauled by a monstrous giant stoat, and set upon by the hounds of Fionn mac Cumhaill himself.

In all that time, the gag mystically bonded to her hadn't so much as loosened. Still, what was time to an immortal? She could afford to be patient.

That is until that idiot Rory had run off on some damn fool crusade for a talking cup. Now everything was in doubt; her plan and her freedom.

She was finally jostled out of her wallowing by a passer-by.

"OI!" shrieked a pale-faced crimson-mohawked thug. "Watch were you're going, you dozy cow!"

_Sorry._ Molly signed reflexively.

"Don't go waving your fingers at _me!_" the thug snarled. "Your type is nothing but a drain on society, holding back the species! Ain't ya never heard o' survival o' the fittest? Oh right, I guess ya haven't."

Molly responded with a gesture that required no ISL to understand.

"Bad move, girlie," the thug hissed, drawing a switchblade. "Time for a bit o' the ol ultra-violeeEEECK!"

The thug let loose an ear-splitting shriek as Molly seized his wrist and twisted it behind his back, sending his blade clattering harmlessly to the footpath. He flailed in a wild panic as she kicked the legs out from under him, sending his face slamming directly into the concrete.

"W-wait! I didn't mean-" he sputtered through cracked teeth before Molly pounced on him, raining down one fist after another.

Who did this insect think she was?

She was the Morrigan; Phantom Queen, Battle Crow. The legions of Balor had flung themselves into the sea at her cry. She was Crom-Cruach; Death Worm, Bloody Crooked One, All-Devouring. Entire armies had died beneath her maw.

Bad enough he'd dare threaten her, but then he'd had the sheer unmitigated gall to beg for mercy... _from_ _her_.

_Sean was right,_ Molly thought as her knuckles turned red. That was what made her and Rory different. Rory was a genuinely good person.

Rory would have stopped by now.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" someone cried in a thick Scottish brogue, dragging Molly from her prey.

She spun around, staring into a white-bearded face through a crimson haze.

"Hang about," spoke Macbeth. "Aren't ye-"

She shook him off, storming down the street with hands buried deep in her jacket's pockets.

Macbeth was about to pursue before he was distracted by the wheezing of the fallen thug.

"Sh-she nearly killed m-me," the thug sobbed, his battered and trembling form curled into a fetal position.

"Auch, you'll live," spoke Macbeth, giving the thug's injuries a cursory inspection. "Though if ye've any sense, you'll take the opportunity to re-examine yuir life choices."

None involved in the altercation noticed the odd ripple that moved across the surface of the fountain's waters, _against_ the winter wind.

[-]

Molly took a long way back, winding and doubling back through the winding alleys and backstreets of Soho. Partly to shake off anyone who might try following her after that mess, but mostly to give herself time to cool off.

Pummeling that vermin had felt _good._ Not that she ultimately cared about whatever idiotic ideological axe he had been attempting to grind. She'd simply been grateful for something to take out her frustrations on.

Her fingers unconsciously went to her lips. What if the reason the mystic gag hadn't dissolved yet was that it _knew_ she was faking? That all her grand acts of supposed heroism were ultimately self-serving? What if desperately wanting the gag gone was the very thing keeping it in place?

She'd just come within sight of the shop when something between a revving motor and a wet gurgling whinny came from behind her.

[-]

**Into the Mystic, Soho**

The shop was quiet save for the low rumbling snores of Sean, dozing softly under a newspaper in an oversized armchair. Vanessa had tried to keep herself occupied by browsing through a bookshelf when she'd stumbled on a small volume of Irish mythology.

Naturally, the book had included the tale of Midir and Etain. Though apparently, Sean had only told the abridged version earlier. The story in the book had a lot more subplots and tangents; secret love trysts, mistaken identities, identical daughters.

Still, Vanessa couldn't shake the sense Etain was little more than a plot device in her own story. Practically nothing in the story happened because of _her_ decisions. She was blown back and forth by the desires of others, like a butterfly in the wind.

Well, that was just the way they wrote women in old stories. It didn't mean anything, right?

Then she'd started browsing through the other stories; clever princesses who won the hero's heart not with beauty but with cunning, terrible queens who led armies, and wise druidesses who summoned storms. Vanessa hadn't known women even could be druids.

Whether they'd been heroines or villainesses, whether they ended in triumph or tragedy, they had each written their own stories.

Except for Etain.

Someone rapped on the shop window.

Vanessa looked up to see Molly waving at her from the other side of the glass. She momentarily considered waking Sean, but he'd already been up most of the night. She resolved to let him sleep before stepping out into the street.

"Molly?"

The pink-haired girl's only response was to beckon her down an adjacent side alley.

Vanessa followed reluctantly, looking over her shoulder.

"Alright," spoke Vanessa. "What's going on?"

A leer crept across 'Molly's' lips as her form morphed first into a watery pillar, then Midir's own leering shape.

"No," Vanessa spun on her heels, only to find her escape blocked by a riderless motorcycle that revved menacingly. The horse skull mounted upon its handlebars regarded her evilly with empty eye-sockets.

"Why do you fight me, Etain? You belong with me," spoke Midir. "You belong _to_ me."

"I'M NOT ETAIN!" Vanessa screamed. "And I don't belong to anybody!"

"You promised yourself to me a hundred lifetimes ago, _Etain_, and I will hold you to that vow," spoke Midir, leer twisting into a sneer. "One way or another."

He held aloft a small jeweled cage such as one might use for a small bird or insect. His eyes shone with faery light as he began to chant.

"_By Danu and all tainted things, fly you now on painted wings!"_

Tendrils of eldritch energy swirled about Vanessa, making her fall to her knees in mind-numbing pain. She looked down to see the skin of her forearms turning hard and chitinous, her fingers fusing into obsidian claws.

[-]

Sean bolted upright, awoken by an almost inhuman scream. His eyes darted about wildly. "Vanessa?"

He dashed out into the street just in time to see Midir racing past on a screeching motorcycle, an unconscious and chained Molly thrown over the back of the bike.

In his hand was a small jeweled cage, containing a single frantically fluttering butterfly.

[-]

As the last dying embers of sunset sank beneath the London skyline, cracks began creeping along the two stone forms perched atop the shop. Their eyes blazed bright red as they loosed pantherish snarls, shaking flakes of stone and frost from their wings.

"Finally," yelled an exasperated Sean. "Midir nabbed Molly and Vanessa!"

"What?" cried Tyger. "When?"

"Couple hours ago. I woulda called Knight's Spur but… BLAST!" Sean kicked the railing. "If only I hadn't nodded off!"

"They could be anywhere in the city by now," spoke Tyger, stroking his beak pensively. "Or even back on Avalon!"

"Did Molly still have the LexPhone Una gave her?" Kelpie piped up.

"I… I think so," muttered Sean. "Does that help?"

"It might," Kelpie spoke, booting up the laptop slung over her shoulders. "If we can still track it."

"Wouldn't Midir just chuck it?" asked Tyger skeptically.

"Midir's been on Avalon for the past four years, Ty. He's probably never even _seen_ anything as advanced as a LexPhone, let alone knows what GPS is," spoke Kelpie, typing furiously. "I just hope we still have time."

[-]

**The London Aquarium**

Molly awoke to a glassy yellow eye regarding her with cool indifference. She jolted backwards, weighed down by heavy iron chains. On the other side of a glass pane, a yellow-eyed pike turned with a flick of its tail; dismissing her.

"I admit, Morrigan, I was startled to see you upon the bridge last night," Midir's voice spoke. "Startled enough to even forget you'd been stripped of your killing voice."

Molly craned her neck back. Midir stood looming over a small table, the pale light of the surrounding freshwater fish tanks making his pallor seem even more unearthly.

"We all thought Cú Roí had ended you. Imagine how they'll react when I drag you back to Tír na nÓg in chains?" Midir grinned. "It should net me much favor."

Upon the table lay Molly's LexPhone. Next to it was a small jeweled cage containing a single red and black winged butterfly, painted wings beating desperately as it sought any escape.

"Magnificent, isn't she?" Midir whispered, entranced. "My Etain's beauty remains a constant no matter her form."

Somewhere in the distance, Big Ben chimed dolefully. Midir looked up with irritation.

"For what it's worth, I'm not too keen on spending the next few centuries on the same tiny island as all our relatives either," Midir sighed.

He picked up the butterfly cage in one hand while the other, clad in thick leather, took hold of Molly's chain. "Still, at least _I'll_ have company."

Molly glared at him with barely contained contempt.

"Pity, I was looking forward to meeting the Hound Son's latest incarnation," Midir spoke, smirking. "Ditched you, didn't he?"

She spat in his face.

Midir's features contorted in cold fury, his voice dropping to a low hiss. "We'll see how spirited you are when I throw you before the feet of-"

The skylight above shattered, sending shimmering shards raining down upon them both. Molly hurled herself beneath the table. Midir merely looked up, allowing broken glass to fall harmlessly through his watery form.

With pantherish snarls and blazing crimson eyes, Tyger and Kelpie came soaring down like avenging angels. Tyger was the first to strike, knocking the butterfly cage from Midir's hand and sending it skidding across the floor.

"ETAIN!" Midir shrieked, before turning his full fury back on the two gargoyles.

As Molly watched the ensuing battle something tugged on her iron chains.

"Hold still," spoke Sean, brandishing a pair of bolt-cutters. "Have you out in a jif."

Molly flexed her limbs as the chains clattered to the floor.

"Where's Vanessa?" asked Sean.

Molly gestured toward the prone butterfly cage.

Sean nodded before shimmying for the cage on all fours. As he did, Molly my took the now loose chain in hand, testing its weight.

Meanwhile, Midir snaked a watery tendril about Kelpie's torso and flung her into a nearby tank with enough force to crack the glass. He was about to press his attack when…

"Leave her alone!" Tyger snarled, slashing repeatedly at Midir's face with razor talons; only for it to instantly reform from the watery mess.

"ENOUGH!" shrieked Midir, firing a jet of brackish water from his mouth that sent Tyger hurtling before landing next to Kelpie.

"I was willing to be merciful before, Fir Bolg, out of deference to my father's respect for your race," Midir hissed, eyes shining an unearthly blue-green. "BUT IF YOU'RE SO EAGER TO DIE!"

The water pooling at the two gargoyles' feet suddenly leapt up like a thing alive. Tyger and Kelpie recoiled as it formed twin airtight spheres about their faces. They clawed ineffectually at the watery bubbles as they began to drown on dry land.

Tyger collapsed to his knees, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. Kelpie managed to stagger forward. With time to prepare, she could hold her breath for about fifteen minutes. Taken by surprise, she'd be lucky to last five.

Midir watched with grim satisfaction as the Scottish gargoyle clawed weakly at his chest before she too fell at his feet.

The Sídhe cocked his head at a rattling from behind before an iron chain came whipping through the air, wrapping itself about him. "NO!"

Tyger and Kelpie gasped gratefully as the water fell from their heads.

An enraged Midir spun on his heels only to be greeted by a smirking Molly, iron chain in hand.

[-]

**Westminster Bridge, the Thames**

The iron-chained Midir bristled as he was shoved unceremoniously against a railing, the cool waters of the Thames achingly close.

"Mortal pond scum!" he snarled at his captors. "Do you have any idea who my father is? When he comes for me and learns of this outrage, you-"

"Will be all too happy to explain the whole situation to him," interjected Sean with the end of the chain in one hand and a caged butterfly in the other. He was flanked by Molly, Tyger, and Kelpie.

Midir fell silent, biting his lip and casting his gaze downwards.

"Oh ho, I've seen that face enough times on Rory," Sean chuckled wickedly. "Daddy doesn't know what you've been up to out here, does he?"

Midir looked out across the river, where the hands of Big Ben were edging ever closer to the hour. The Dagda was generous beyond compare, but that wasn't the same thing as forgiving.

_Not one second more._

Midir's shoulders slumped in defeat. "What are your terms?"

Sean exchanged a look with his comrades. "Oh, we be simple folk really. The usual three wishes in exchange for your freedom should do us."

"And what might they be?" asked Midir.

"First, you return Vanessa to human form _exactly_ as she was before you transformed her into a butterfly. Second, you _never_ speak or write a word of Molly's whereabouts to another living soul," spoke Sean.

"Very well," sighed Midir. "And the third?"

"You forever renounce all claims on the mind, body, and soul of Vanessa Clarke," Sean intoned. "_And_ those of all her future reincarnations."

"Absurd!" Midir howled. "Etain and I are bound by destiny itself! You could no more cleave the sun from the sky than-"

"Vanessa," spoke Tyger sharply.

Midir blinked. "What?"

The lupine gargoyle's eyes burned red as he grabbed the _Sídhe_ by the collar. "Her name is _Vanessa!_"

"Fine, fine!" Midir sputtered. "I forevermore renounce all claims on Et- on _Vanessa_. There, are you satisfied?"

"Eh, back up now," said Sean, holding up the butterfly cage. "Forgetting something are we?"

Midir grumbled something _as Gaeilge_ before his eyes began to shine once more.

"_Love reborn though I must grieve, be once more Daughter of Eve."_

A flash of blue-green light and a fully human, if somewhat disoriented, Vanessa stood at Sean's side.

"You alright, luv?" asked Sean.

"Yeah, I think," said Vanessa. "Legs a bit wobbly is all."

Sean gave Tyger the nod, at which the London gargoyle snapped the chain binding the _Sídhe_.

Midir rubbed his wrist before whistling low. His cycle-steed came trundling out of the shadows. He was about to mount it when Vanessa stepped forward.

"Midir, wait," she spoke.

The Sídhe paused, a brief glimmer of hope in his dark eyes… before Vanessa socked him across the jaw.

"That's for turning me into a butterfly, you gormless tosser!" she spat.

Kelpie stifled a snort.

Midir clambered awkwardly upon his cycle-steed, turning to fix his former captors with a glare of fury.

"If I ever see _any_ of you again," he raved, eyes fixed on Molly in particular. "You're dead, you hear me? DEAD!"

His cycle-steed shrieked as it jumped the railing, riding off across the river's surface before vanishing into the mist.

"Cannae imagine why he's single," Kelpie scoffed.

[-]

**Knight's Spur, London**

**December 31****st**

"Is the blindfold really necessary, Ty?" asked Vanessa as she was guided down the echoing hallway.

"Sorry, luv. Only way I could talk Una into letting you come," said Tyger as they came to a stop. "You ready?"

She nodded before a door creaked slowly open, followed by a wave of bubbling laughter and undercurrent of party music.

"Now," said Ty.

Vanessa pulled back the blindfold and gasped. Before her was a grand hall larger than some buildings she'd lived in. Across three levels mulled what must have been two hundred gargoyles of all ages, shapes, sizes, and colours. Everywhere she looked, angel-winged lions, eagles, unicorns, boars, bats, wolves and every possible combinations thereof danced, joked, chatted, ate and drank just like any other New Year's party.

She spotted Kelpie by the buffet table with a leonine-featured aquatic gargoyle who had the same manta-wings and webbed talons as herself. He seemed to be delivering a lengthy and animated lecture on the make-up of the _hors d'oeuvres_ that Kelpie was scarfing down by the fistful.

She noticed a handful of fellow humans sprinkled about the assembly. A couple of girls around her own age, while at the makeshift bar Sean sat with a slightly graying leonine gargoyle and a white-bearded man in black who had a rather pretty red-head on his arm.

"I'm never going to forget this as long as I live," she gasped with wide-eyed awe. "Thank you, Ty... for everything."

"Pshaaw!" said Tyger. "Think nothing of it, milady,"

"Da!" chirped a kitten-faced and grey-furred hatchling, clinging to Ty's leg.

"Well hello there, pet," Tyger chuckled, lifting the hatchling onto his shoulders.

"Aaaaw, they're a dote," cooed Vanessa. "They yours?"

"One of mine," answered Tyger as the hatchling began absently nibbling on his ear.

"How many you got?" asked Vanessa.

"Oh 'bout twenty-five, so far," answered Tyger.

"Twenty-five!?" exclaimed Vanessa. "Bloody hell, I hope you had fun at least?"

Tyger tilted his head in confusion before her meaning registered. "Oooh no! The Clan raises our children communally. We don't really keep track of who's related to who. At least not biologically."

"Aaah," Vanessa nodded. "So you didn't actually...?"

"Oh good God, no," Tyger shook his head with a snort. "Squeezing out _one_ egg is hard enough."

Before Vanessa could respond, he ushered her into the crowd.

"Come on, I want to introduce you to my mate," Tyger spoke, craning his neck. "He should be around here somewhere?"

[-]

"Sure you won't consider staying a while longer, Sean?" asked Leo, pulling another draught of Dalriada Lutur Larger. "It's really no trouble."

"That's kind of ye, but no," answered Sean, taking the proffered glass. "Truth be told, I'm starting to miss Liscoo."

"Be it ever so humble," sighed Macbeth, raising his own glass.

"Amen to that," spoke Sean, responding in kind.

"You know, I've been invited to do a show at the Abbey Theater next summer," spoke Veronica Baird, arm in arm with Macbeth. "I could probably swing tickets for you, Molly, and Rory if he's back by then?"

"I might just take you up on that, luv," mused Sean.

"Where is… 'Molly' anyway?" asked Macbeth coolly.

"Who knows?" Sean shrugged. "Girl has a habit of wandering off on her own every now and then. She always turns up eventually."

[-]

"Settle down, everyone," called Una, pinging a spoon against her glass before gesturing an ornate antique clock. "The countdown's about to begin!"

"Ten..."

"Nine…"

"Eight…"

"Seven…"

"Six..."

"Five…"

"Four…"

"Three…"

"Two…"

"One…"

**January 1****st****, 2001 A.D.**

A wave of cheers rolled across the room as party-goers embraced, kissing or brow-stroking according to preference. Tyger nuzzled with another male who had dark fur, equine features, and large bat-like wings. Kelpie gave Liam a sisterly peck on the cheek. Over at the bar, Veronica practically pounced on an unprepared Macbeth while Sean laughed uproariously.

A moment later, the voices of gargoyle and human alike joined in a chorus that rose into the night…

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
and never brought to mind?  
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
and auld lang syne?_

_For auld lang syne, my jo,  
for auld lang syne,  
we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,  
for auld lang syne.  
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp!  
And surely I'll be mine!  
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,  
for auld lang syne._

[-]

Elsewhere, amid a ring of standing stones hidden deep in the forested estate, Molly sat alone and hunched over her LexPhone.

_No Missed Calls_

_No Messages_

_**Never the End…**_


	3. End Credits

**Featuring the Voice Talents of...**

Gregg Berger – Frank the Cabbie, Leo

Keith David – Baron Samedi

Neil Dickson – Thug

Ben Diskin – Midir

Sarah Douglas - Una

Zehra Fazal – Shari/Narrator

Karen Gillan - Kelpie

Lisa Hannigan – Brigid/Maman Brigitte

Pearl Mackie – Vanessa Clarke

Vanessa Marshall – Veronica Baird

Colm Meaney – Sean Dugan

Riley Carter Millington – Tyger

John Rhys-Davies - Macbeth

Fred Tatasciore – The Dagda

Zoë Wanamaker – Constance

[-]

Kelpie of the Loch Ness Clan created by Gryphinwyrm7

[-]

Special thanks (as always) to GregX, Gryphinwyrm7 and Masterdramon for their support and feedback in the writing of this fic.

[-]

Extra special thanks the massively talented Kordyne over on DeviantArt for providing the stunning cover art for this story.

[-]

Sir Rory Dugan, Kelpie and Tyger will return in _Gargoyles Pendragon: The Quest for the Holy Grail _by GryphinWyrm7


End file.
